


Recoveries

by Gryphonrhi



Category: Highlander: The Series, White Collar
Genre: Community: crossovers100, Crossover, Gen, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-09
Updated: 2011-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphonrhi/pseuds/Gryphonrhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Con men and art thieves both have to deal with recoveries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recoveries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pat_t](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pat_t/gifts).



> Written for the Crossover Dialogue meme, and for Crossovers100, prompt # 89 -- _she_. Enjoy!

"Neal Caffrey." It was a lazy-sounding British-accented voice and its owner fell into step beside Neal on the sidewalk just as he left June's house.

"Who's asking?" Neal countered, checking the hang of his cuffs as he did. It added to the nonchalance and let him check that Peter was in fact coming over.

"Oh, it wasn't a question. I'm Marcus Constantine's representative. He'd like his El Greco back now that you're out of prison." The man continued to saunter along beside him, sharp hazel eyes watching around them. It didn't surprise him when Peter fell in on his other side.

"Who are you? And that is a question, and I do want an answer." Peter glanced at Neal, a wordless question of 'Trouble?'

Neal shook his head minutely; no trouble at all. Probably.

"Adam Pierson." He smiled faintly, something darkly amused and edged under it. "I have a letter from Constantine for you, Mr. Caffrey. He said you'd want proof."

"Neal, please. And I'm not admitting I have an El Greco by taking this." He waited until Pierson nodded to accept the letter.

"Of course you don't." Great. Pierson knew he did, and Constantine did -- how had he figured that out? -- and now Peter was figuring it out from that narrow eyed look.

"The Warrior Angels portrait," Peter said flatly. "Stolen from the Musee d'Armes in 2001." He glanced at Pierson. "And reported stolen during World War II."

Pierson nodded. "It was taken from the rightful owner in 1939. Her heirs have been found and verified. Constantine wants the painting back to return to them."

"If I had it," Neal said cautiously, "it wouldn't be hanging up in plain sight."

Pierson just smiled. "Read the letter."

Peter said pleasantly, "Coffee shop right here. You can just buy the drinks while we look this over."

Pierson turned the smile on Peter and Neal watched, fascinated, as someone weighed Peter's authority and dismissed it. Or maybe just classed it as 'not my problem,' but still -- not something that happened often. Peter had noticed it too and was reevaluating Pierson.

"We can do coffee while he thinks. You'll buy your own. He reads the letter. You don't." Pierson just smiled. "I'm not the Post Office but it's his mail. You aren't intercepting it."

"Yeah, I don't think so." Peter pulled out his badge. "Peter Burke, FBI."

Pierson looked the ID over and said flatly, "Then you shouldn't be interfering with returning the painting. You're still not reading the letter without a warrant. Since you only just now found out about it, Agent, you don't have one."

Peter considered him, eyes measuring and brain working overtime. Usually he was doing this to catch Neal. "I could arrest you."

Pierson smiled, that same dangerous, edged amusement. "You're FBI, I'm sure you could. And then my lawyers would take apart both your department and you for false arrest. Next threat?"

"Who are you?"

"Today, I'm a courier for a senior trustee of the Musee d'Armes." Pierson shrugged and waved them into the coffee shop.

Neal absently ordered his usual, took the espresso and scone regardless of the fact that June's cook had already fed him, and sat down with the letter. Pierson slid in beside him, neatly blocking Peter in the process.

Neal cut the envelope open with the table knife, sipped his espresso, and then stared at the letter. "Oh you have got to be-- Is he joking?" Neal started trying to remember what else was in that stash, worried now. "Please tell me he's joking."

Pierson said mildly, "Marcus Constantine joke about ownership of art? You're the one who must be joking. Return it through Constantine, Mr. Caffrey. It beats your alternatives."

Peter reached for the letter, but Neal twitched it away, already trying to wrap calm around himself. Peter could probably see through it, but Neal would explain later. "Well. I'm not saying I have it myself. But Nazi art back to its rightful owners... I can have it in three days. Call me and we'll set up the transfer."

Pierson just nodded. "Good." He gave Peter an amused look. "When you look into my background, Agent, my lawyers will contact you about your grounds for doing so. If they're not good, expect a hefty bill from the courts and my lawyers." He left without asking for Neal's number, but then, he knew where Neal lived; a phone number was simple after that.

Peter tried to take the letter, but Neal shook his head. "No."

"They threatened you, Neal." Peter was getting angry -- angry enough to ignore his coffee and Neal's untouched, and very good, cherry almond scone.

"No," Neal admitted reluctantly. "They informed me. The rightful heir on this... might try to recover it herself. If she did, she wouldn't stop at her own property. In an odd way," and Neal straightened his tie-bar, a little relieved not to have more dangerous people annoyed at him, "they did me a favor."

Peter considered him, then sighed and added cream and sugar to both their drinks. "Drink that. You're still too pale. Who owns it?"

"It doesn't matter." Neal shrugged, "I mean, I don't want her mad at me. But if I'd known there was a rightful heir, I'd have made arrangements anyway. Constantine's hard but he's scrupulous. I'd have gone through him for this if I'd thought of it."

Peter repeated, "Who owns it, Neal?"

"Promise you won't try to bug it," Neal replied promptly.

"It's going back to the rightful owner, why would I...." Peter stared at him. "It's another thief?"

"It's another very good thief. But if Constantine says she's the rightful owner--"

"Then she is. Yeah. Word on him everywhere is that he's honest. Fine. Drink. Call Mozzie to do whatever I shouldn't know about to get that painting here. Jesus. Is anything about your life simple?"

Neal drank his coffee, shuddering at the amount of cream and sugar, then shrugged. "Sure. Working for you. Come on, you wanted to be in early to work on the Vaughn case."

Peter put down a tip, already grumbling about the job, the cost of coffee and pastries at this shop (never mind that he loved the coffee here), and about Pierson, or whatever his name was.

Neal really, really hoped Peter left this alone. Otherwise, he was going to have to explain to Marcus Constantine and the Amazing Amanda why she shouldn't redistribute more art....

  
_~ ~ ~ finis ~ ~ ~_   


  
_Comments, Commentary, & Miscellanea:_   


For the curious: The Nazis stole it. The Musee 'received it' (i.e., took custody of it) in 2004 and started working out the provenance. Marcus knew damn well it was Rebecca's, but he had to prove that, track through that identity's heirs, then track through that identity to John Horne, since Rebecca's dead by 2004, and John was, in 2004, not well himself. Then the painting was stolen and by the time John passed away and the painting's ownership passed to Amanda, Neal was in prison.

Neal, meanwhile, is not having a good day since Marcus knew who took it, knew where to find Neal, knew he'd been in prison, and has just given the one warning of 'hand it over, or I tell one of the world's great thieves that you have her legitimately owned art.'

Methos? He got paid to run this errand, are you kidding me? (By Rebecca's estate, granted, and if it was still John's, he'd have done it for a token fee, but... okay, okay, it was still a token fee. But don't tell him I told you. He hates it when word like that gets out.)

Oh, and the Warrior Angels? Rebecca and two of her more dangerous female students, all dead by the time Marcus displayed the painting. Amanda really wants that art back.


End file.
